Give It Back To The Indians

Old Peter Minuet had nothing to lose

When he bought the Isle of Manhattan

For twenty-six dollars and a bottle of booze

And they threw in The Bronx and Staten



Pete thought that he had the best of the bargin

But the poor Red man just grinned

And he grunted, "Ugh!" meaning 'okay' in his jargon

For he knew poor Pete was skinned



We've tried to run the city

But the city ran away

And now Peter Minuet

We can't continue it



Broadway's turning into Coney

Champagne Charlie's drinking gin

Old New York is new and phony

Give it back to the Indians



Two cents more to smoke a Lucky

Dodging busses keep you thin

Now New York is simply ducky

Give it back to the Indians



Take all the reds

On the boxes made for soap

Whites on Fifth Avenue

Blues down in Wall Street, losing hope

Big bargain today

Chief, take it away



Come, you busted city slickers

Better take it on the chin

Father Nick has lost his knickers

Give it back to the Indians



Take all the reds

On the boxes made for soap

Whites on Fifth Avenue

Blues down in Wall Street, losing hope

Big bargain today

Chief, take it away



Come, you busted city slickers

Better take it on the chin

Father Nick has lost his knickers

Give it back to the Indians